not the durbev i wanted but the durbev we need
by stolashoots
Summary: Short harriedshipping fics
1. Chapter 1

ayy **welcome to my** harriedshipping **fic! Big thanks to bus for getting me into this**

 **Notes:**  
 **-** Durbe **and Chris are vaguely the same age in this**  
 **-The** fics **aren't in order, but they're all after the end of Zexal**

"Do you miss it?"

The question catches Durbe off guard, and he turns to watch Chris walk up to him and lean against the railing beside him. Though the stunning Arklight gardens are below them, Chris only has eyes for Durbe.

"Do I miss what?"

Chris takes a second to respond, perhaps not knowing for certain what he wants to ask. He looks out across the gardens, scanning the asters, gauras, and penstemons without truly seeing them. His eyes find Durbe's. "The past, I guess."

Does he miss the past? What kind of question is that? Now it's Durbe's turn to look away. Does he miss the past? He misses Mach's companionship, and exploring uncharted lands, and meeting new people, and the feeling of wind biting his skin as he flew. He misses Merag and Nasch, and what he had with the twins before they all died. He misses the old world, and knowing his place in the greater span of things, compared to modern times where he always seems to do everything wrong.

"Sometimes," he answers, turning back to Chris. "There are things I miss, but there are things I'm glad I don't have to deal with anymore." Having to hide his feeling for the people he loved, still love, is the most predominate. Now, there's no real shame for choosing a partner that doesn't exactly fit the norm. Durbe places his hand on top of Chris'. "Why do you ask?"

Chris shrugs and smiles, his face softening. "No reason. I was just curious."

Something nags in the back of Durbe's mind; Chris wouldn't have asked if it didn't matter to him. "I wouldn't trade it," says Durbe, and when Chris' expression turns puzzled, he elaborates. "If I had the chance, I wouldn't go back and change what happened. I'm happy here. Now." Even though Nasch and Merag aren't truly Nasch and Merag anymore, even though Durbe knows he'll never have another chance with him, that's all okay. Really, he's fine with it.

Chris looks baffled for a moment, obviously having not expected Durbe to say any of that, but then he relaxes and smiles again. He turns his hand over and laces their fingers together, and Durbe shuffles over so he can lean against Chris. Together, they view the garden below.

I'm glad you're here, too."

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	2. Chapter 2

"How long do you plan on growing out your hair?" Thomas asks, reaching out to tug on a few strands of Chris' hair. "It's even longer than Father's old length." In his seven year-old body, Tron's hair no longer grows like it once did when he was fully human, and it still hangs just past shoulder length even after all these years.

Chris doesn't bother looking up from his book as he swats Thomas' hand away. "I'm not going to cut it until it starts bothering me." That's a lie, of course, he fights with it every day and still has yet to cut it. It's gotten to the point where Durbe helps him brush it out in the mornings and braid it so it doesn't get sucked into the machinery at work. He really should cut it, considering all the trouble it brings, but he still refuses.

"At this rate, you're going to end up like Rapunzel. I'm sure Father could find a tower for us to hide you away in." Thomas jokes. Chris glances over at him and sees an only fairy tale book in his lap. So that's what made him bring the whole hair thing up.

"Of course," Thomas jokes, "then we'll risk having a prince show up and sweep you off your feet."

"Not a prince, a knight." Chris corrects immediately, his eyes wandering across the room at where Durbe and Mihael sit on the floor, huddled over a scrapbook. Beside him, Thomas follows his gaze and barks out a laugh.

"Yes, of course," Thomas agrees, still snickering. "A knight."

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	3. Chapter 3

The scrapbook in Durbe's hands is new; the pages pristine and untouched. Chris watches him open the front cover slowly, then flip through the blank pages. He returns to the first page, picks up a pencil, and writes on the inside cover. When he finishes, he goes over the letters again with a sharpie.

Chris waits until Durbe puts the sharpie away before speaking. "You got another one?"

Durbe doesn't look up at him, instead he pulls out some photographs and scissors and begins cutting. "Yeah, I filled the last one a couple days ago." Durbe gestures with the scissors at their bookcase. Amidst thick books on astrology, astrophysics, geology, and languages, Chris can easily find the bright scrapbooks sticking out. There's three of them in total, or, now four, counting the one in front of Durbe.

Chris walks over to Durbe and leans down so he can press a kiss on the corner of Durbe's lips. As he pulls away, the scissors slice Tron's head off, and Durbe makes a disgruntled noise. "I can fix it," he says quickly, his words blurring together. Chris watches, amused, as Durbe scrambles for the tape and tries to attach photo Tron's decapitated head to his body. It's a lost cause, Durbe can't match the head and neck properly, and it ends up looking wrong.

"You did your best," Chris tells him, patting Durbe on the shoulder. "I don't think Tron will mind if you get rid of that."

"But… But it's so cute," Durbe whines. The picture in question is from one of the rare moments when Mihael convinced Tron to dress up in frilly clothes. In it, Tron is wearing a pained expression and looking off in the distance. Chris remembers this moment, but he didn't know someone snapped a picture of it. If Tron know, he'd demand it be burned. It's a shame Durbe managed to cut it.

"Want me to help you cut, and you do the gluing?" Chris volunteers, pulling out the chair next to him and sitting. Durbe gives one last sad look at the Tron picture before setting it to the side to be dealt with later. With a great sigh, he hands over the scissors and photographs and begins describing how he wants them all cut.

They chat as they work, Durbe outlining the pages in pencil before actually gluing anything down while Chris trims the pictures. Some of them are blurry, others are clear. There are pictures of the other Barians doing normal things, pictures of Mizael doodling a dragon in a sketchbook, Gilag at what looks to be a concert, Ryouga sitting in front a plate of vegetables looking distraught, and Rio playing duel monsters with Anna and Kotori. A few are of Kaito and Haruto, the two of them making cheesy faces at the camera, and of Yuma, Alit, and Vector together on the beach, hints of sunburn showing on Vector's freckled skin. The great majority of the photos of are the Arklights, there seems to be at least one of Thomas for every tournament he's competed in recently, and many of Mihael dressed up in fancy clothes or in his fencing gear. Finally, there are pictures of Tron reading a book or watching cartoons, and of Chris himself hunched over textbooks or his computer.

There are no pictures of Durbe in the pile.

They only stop two hours later when Mihael comes by to knock on their door and remind them that dinner will be soon and that Durbe should really clean up, he has glue stuck all over his fingers. They haven't even gotten a sixth of the way through the scrapbook, and there's a large stack of cut pictures that Durbe still needs to find room for, but they call it quits anyway.

Chris disposes of the pictures scraps and shoves the ruined Tron picture in his pocket while Durbe goes off to scrub the glue off his hands, and when that takes longer than expected, Chris pulls out his phone to play with as he waits. He opens messaging and, slowly, begins sending Durbe more pictures he can add to his scrapbook. From the other room, he can hear Durbe's phone chirp every time a picture comes in. Moments later, Durbe appears, phone in now clean hands.

"Uh, Chris? Why are you sending me so many pictures?" Durbe shows Chris the massive list of files his phone has already received.

"They're for your scrapbook. Ready to eat?" Chris stands and they begin walking to the dining room, Durbe still scrolling through his phone with a puzzled expression.

About halfway to the dining room, Durbe stops, and Chris turns to him to see what's wrong.

"Chris? All these pictures are of me."

"You don't have any pictures of you for your scrapbook," Chris offers as an explanation. "When you're older, you'll want to see yourself doing things too, just not the people you care about." Chris pauses, then, "I'll want to see pictures of us then too." He waits for Durbe to process the information. Eventually, Durbe nods slowly and begins walking again, shoving his phone in his pocket and slipping his hand into Chris'.

"Thank you," Durbe says.

"Anytime," Chris replies, ducking down to press his lips against Durbe's.

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